


little whispers, sudden shivers

by chocolatemoon



Category: Soy Luna (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemoon/pseuds/chocolatemoon
Summary: Somehow, it feels as if everything they've been through has lead up to this morning.





	little whispers, sudden shivers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr.
> 
> Title is taken from "hello hello" by Lewis Watson. The quote at the beginning is from "Find Me" by Boyce Avenue.

_and blindly, you came to me,_

_finding peace and belief_

_in this smile._

/

The morning sun sneaks its way into the dim room between the spaces in the blinds, illuminating dust particles that are spinning in the beams of light, some wildly, some slowly, while Luna’s heartbeat falls into a steady rhythm.

She blinks up at the ceiling. Her mind is misty from slumber, the remains of her dream slipping away into the dark labyrinths of lost memories, salt ocean air being the only thing she can remember. With the next flutter of her eyelids, it’s gone as well – and she’s fully awake, ready to meet the new day. She can already sense all the restless energy building up inside, eagerly waiting to be released.

She turns to the side. Next to her, lying on his stomach, is Matteo. He’s facing away from her, the blanket rolled down to his waist, exposing his bare back.

Even though she doesn’t want to disturb him, the urge to feel him, to hear him speak, gets the best of her, and she reaches out to place a hand on his back. She starts writing a phrase with her index finger, keeping her touch as light as possible. The silliness of it elicits a giggle from her, yet the seriousness behind the words keeps it low enough so that it won’t wake him up. When she’s halfway through the last letter for the sixth time or so, she retracts her hand. Matteo has gone suspiciously silent.

Then, he lets out a breath, louder than someone who’d still be asleep, and rolls over. His dark eyes meet hers, and they both smile.

“Good morning,” she says, stroking his cheek.

He takes hold of her hand and presses a small, swift kiss to the inside of her wrist, mumbling something that could be a reply, making her smile wider. “What time is it?” he asks slowly, his voice raspy.

She sits up to check her phone on the bedside table. After she’s read the digital clock, her eyes linger on the lockscreen. It’s a photo of the two of them, from that time they visited Paris. They had spent the whole day walking around and when her feet started to hurt, he gave her a piggyback ride back to the hotel. Feeling spontaneous, she insisted on taking a picture, hence the crooked angle and the blurriness, but the large grins on both of their faces speak volumes. Her heart melts; the photo was taken nearly a year ago, but it could’ve been yesterday – or any other day, really. Happiness is still present in her life, tinting it gold and silver.

She turns off the screen and puts the phone down. “Almost eight,” she tells him.

He groans. “Too early.”

“Nonsense.” She lies down again, and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to him, leaving their faces only a few centimeters apart. “By the way,” she continues, “you promised me yesterday that you’d make breakfast, remember?”

“I did?” His hand slips underneath her T-shirt and settles on her lower back.

“Mhm.”

“Why did I do that?”

“Because you love me and …” She snuggles closer to him, enjoying all the warmth that is surrounding them. “… you love treating me like royalty.”

“So it has nothing to with the fact that you can’t cook for shit?”

With a theatrical gasp, she props one elbow up to lean on so that she can properly look at his face. “How dare you? I’m a great cook. No, a culinary genius. I’m so good I should own a restaurant worthy of a Michelin star.”

“Sure you are.”

She’s got plenty of arguments left, but Matteo has started skimming his fingers up and down her skin, almost to the point of tickling, which is certainly more distracting than it should be. Judging by his smirk, he knows it, too.

“Hey, _princess_ ,” he says, “if you want me to make you breakfast you’re going to have to convince me.”

“How?” she asks, keeping her tone innocent, although she can hear the answer in her head before he has the chance to say it out loud.

“Hmm,” he hums, as if he needs to consider his response. “A kiss or two will suffice, I suppose.”

“Ew, no!” she exclaims. “What about my morning breath?”

“What do you mean, ‘ew’?” he chuckles. “Listen, we’ve been together for seven years. I’ve woken up beside you countless times and kissed you right then and there just as many. Do you really think I care about your morning breath?”

To make a point, she tries to wriggle out of his grip (though she doesn’t put much effort into it), but Matteo moves so that he’s above her, pinning her down on the bed.

“Luna.”

That’s all he says.

Luna bites her lower lip, looking up at him, at the streaks of sunlight across his face and body, his eyes awake and playful. And that smile – it does a far better job at brightening the room than the sun ever could. Years ago, the sight would’ve sent her heart into overdrive, but now it’s peacefulness that courses through her veins, the comfort of familiarity spiking her blood. There’s this sense of belonging; lying here and witnessing the most profound emotions he’s feeling because of her. Devotion as evident as the moon in the sky, as guaranteed as a Monday following a Sunday.

(She _swears_ she’s not the mushy type – it’s simply Matteo’s romantic side that has rubbed off on her.)

“Ah, yeah, that’s right,” she says, her voice laced with affection. “I forgot you find me absolutely irresistible.”

“What a terrible partner I am if you’ve been able to forget it even for a second.”

She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so corny.”

“Okay then. How about we go back to the kiss thing?” he suggests.

“You won’t mind if I’ve got bad breath?” It’s not insecurity anymore – she just can’t stop herself from trying to prolong the inevitable. Making him beg for it is kind of fun.

(But giving him what he wants is more fun.)

“Luna, for fu–”

She lifts her head off the pillow to bridge the small gap between their mouths, catching him off guard. She’d like to linger for longer than a mere couple of seconds, but before he can react, she retreats and sinks back into the mattress, feeling pleased with herself.

Matteo seems to be both baffled and amused. “Sneaky,” he mumbles, which makes Luna grin. He leans in, she closes her eyes, and when he kisses her, she thinks she must be the luckiest person in the world. To have this – someone to wake up to every single morning, someone to come back home to every single day – must be some kind of miracle.

It’s a morning like any other; filled with soft giggles and tangled legs, featuring the noises from cars down on the street passing the building. They take their time, knowing that they’ve got lots of it, lips moving against each other at a languid pace, breaking away every now and then to press against cheeks and jaws and necks. Luna hums with contentment while one of his hands plays with some curls that frame her face and fall over her shoulder. She runs her fingers up his back, fans them out over his shoulder blades. Matteo’s fingertips trace the collar of her T-shirt, her collarbone, her jawline. His thumb gently brushing her cheekbone as his mouth finds hers again.

When the kiss deepens, she tugs him closer to her, because the space that’s left between them is still too vast, and she wants to be as close to him as she can get. Love combined with the heat of desire clouds any thought in her brain that doesn’t revolve around Matteo.

It hasn’t always been easy. They’ve had their fair share of bumps in the road. They’ve hurt each other. Said things they didn’t mean. Said things they _did_ mean but that shouldn’t have escaped their minds nonetheless. They both carry scars from arguments that lasted longer than necessary, from lonely nights when they thought that perhaps a pause was the healthiest solution to their problems.

Rather than perceiving these scars as fading reminders of the past, she likes to compare them to cracks in book spines; as signs not of pain, but of love. After everything she and Matteo have been through, they’re still here. Together.

It _is_ difficult. She’s never going to romanticize her own stubbornness or his arrogance. Or how she (at times, naively) puts everyone else before herself, and he has troubles seeing things from other people’s perspectives. Being in a relationship with Matteo is hard work, but he’s given her so much – his body, mind _and_ soul – that it’s all worth it in the end.

Later on, when they’re both sitting upright in the bed, yet still holding onto each other in a tight embrace, she breaks the silence. “So … breakfast now?”

He laughs. If Luna could bottle the sound up and live on it like it was oxygen, she would. “Okay. You win,” he says, letting go of her. “But I’m going to take a shower first.”

“Yes!” She throws up her arms into the air in joy. Matteo raises his eyebrows and she clears her throat. “To breakfast, I mean. Not you … showering. Definitely not that.”

He smiles fondly, gives her one last peck, his lips barely grazing hers, and gets off the bed. “I kind of want to tell you to get your mind out of the gutter, delivery girl.” And with that, he exits the room. Ending the sentence with the old nickname softens the blow. Sort of.

“You did it anyway, you know,” she points out, earning another laugh.

After she’s gotten dressed and tied her hair up in a high ponytail, she goes to the kitchen to prepare for the meal (that she won’t be making herself), so that when Matteo comes back from his shower, all the ingredients are laid out on the counter.

“You know that new French restaurant Gastón and Nina told us about the other day?” he mentions once he’s started making the filling for the omelettes.

“Yeah, what about it?” She inspects her hands – the pink nail polish has started to chip on almost every finger.

“I thought that we could go out and eat there tonight,” he explains and she looks up at him.

“Like a date? Didn’t they say that it was pretty expensive?”

“Your point?”

“I just …” She tilts her head a little to one side, contemplating. “Are we celebrating? Do you have anything special in mind?”

“Maybe …” There’s something wicked about his smile, like he’s keeping something from her. He’s not telling her the whole story. Her instincts seem to decide on that it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Now she’s even more curious than before. She racks her brain for any potential reasons, but can’t come up with anything plausible. “I haven’t forgotten something important, have I?”

“No,” he assures her. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Luna watches him cook while they talk about the upcoming week. Somehow, there’s a change of subject.

“So I’m well aware that I’m biased when it comes to Italy,” Matteo begins, “but I was thinking that we could go to Florence for our honeymoon, or Milan …”

Furrowing her brow in mild confusion, Luna crosses her arms over her chest while Matteo keeps talking about different locations and what they have to offer. This is new. It’s not like they haven’t discussed the future before (and marriage has been brought up a few times in the past), but to hear Matteo speak about the honeymoon destination as if it’s happening sooner rather than later is somewhat startling.

In the end, she can’t keep quiet any longer.

“Um, Matteo,” she interrupts, “aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, _propose_ before you start planning the wedding, let alone the honeymoon?”

He blinks at her, his expression blank. Unreadable. Something – perhaps recognition – lights up in his eyes. He looks back down into the pan.

That’s when she realizes it, too. “Oh.” The fancy dinner date. An imaginary light bulb above her head flickers on. “ _Oh_ ,” she repeats, because her vocabulary is failing her at the moment.

“Guess that big surprise went right out of the window, huh.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, at least it wasn’t my fault.” She tenses up as soon as the words leave her lips. Fortunately, Matteo doesn’t misinterpret them.

“No, it was mine. I got ahead of myself.” He sighs. Then he curses. Twice. “I sure as hell didn’t expect it to go like this. I had it all planned out: we’d have a nice dinner and afterwards we’d go somewhere quiet and romantic where I’d deliver this mind blowing speech that would make you fall for me all over again … and then I’d ask the big question. I even bought you a ring.”

“Really?” Her throat grows tight with emotion, like she’s about to cry. If Matteo looks at her now, she’ll lose her composure, no doubt.

Instead of meeting her gaze, he touches the nearly finished omelette in the pan with the spatula. “Please forget that this conversation ever happened.”

“What? No! How could I?”

“Luna, please.”

“But–”

“No buts. I’m not going to ask you to marry me in our kitchen while making omelettes.”

“Who cares about the omelette,” she mumbles. Breakfast is the last thing on her mind. Tears have begun blurring her vision against her will.

Matteo turns to her at this, his eyes fixated on hers. He parts his lips slightly, only to press them together again. He looks away, puts the spatula down and turns off the stove while Luna just stands still, unsure of what to do.

How can he be so calm? After dropping this giant bombshell on her? She’s blinking frequently, not allowing any tears to fall. Why does she even have this sudden need to cry? There’s an overwhelming sensation in her chest, like a heavy coating of lead on her ribs that’s weighing down on her lungs. She can’t decipher its meaning, can’t decide if it’s good or bad. All she knows is that Matteo hasn’t spoken in almost a minute and a half, and that each second that goes by is a tiny eternity where she’s left wondering.

Suddenly – because she doesn’t see it coming – he’s got his arms around her and she instinctively throws her own around his neck, leaning into him. He doesn’t say anything. She counts his breaths in groups of three in hopes of finding a focal point. ( _One, two, three. Start over. One, two, three._ )

“ _Luna._ ”

A whisper. Low and tender. Her name like honey on his tongue. Like something sacred.

She pulls back. She has to see his face. She has to see something that can anchor her back to the present, something that can give her an explanation to why she’s feeling this way. When their eyes meet, and she sees the love in his, she doesn’t have to speculate anymore. The first tear rolls down her cheek. Matteo cups her face in his hands.

“Are you upset?” he asks gently, and she shakes her head. “No? Then why are you crying?”

“I–I just … I don’t know …” She pauses to let out a small laugh. She has to prevent herself from rambling like she normally does when her feelings go haywire. “I just want to tell you, ‘yes’.”

“And you think _I’m_ the corny one.” Matteo wipes some of her tears away with his thumbs. His smile is shy in that way that is solely reserved for her. He takes a long, deep breath. Then, he whispers: “Will you marry me?”

Luna smiles, too, but unlike his, it’s without any hesitation. She knows what she wants. _Who_ she wants. Standing on her tiptoes, she brushes her lips against his.

“Yes,” she whispers back. “Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes. An infinite number of yes.”

His only reaction is to kiss her.

/

They don’t go out for dinner that evening.

Instead, they stay at home. After he’s given her the ring, and proposed to her a second time (because apparently the first one wasn’t serious enough for Matteo), they both find it quite impossible to let go of each other even for fraction of a minute. In between kisses, he tells her all the things he’s memorized from his speech.

And he was right – it does make her fall for him all over again.


End file.
